


Pulling the Weeds

by avacash



Series: UAF Gifts [1]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Gen, Grandmothers, Old Ladies, a little bit of feels, a whole lotta fluff, great grandmothers, tea time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:24:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9015481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avacash/pseuds/avacash
Summary: Moiraine comes to Malkier to pay her respects to Lan, and to catch up with an old friend. Happy Holidays to the amazing and wonderful ladypoetess!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladypoetess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladypoetess/gifts).



The statue bore a striking resemblance to the man she held dear in her memories, but with that eerie closeness to life which leaves any who knew the subject uncomfortable. Brown and grey with green patches where the plants struggled to reach higher ground, the man there showed a fixed frown, hollow eyes piercing the far horizon, duty creasing the lines in his too young face. He held a sword, and wore a cloak, and both sparkled in the light of the rising sun. His eyes, though, remained unfocused, without any thought behind their shadows.The shape of his face took well to the shape of metal, as though he was meant to be carved into stone. His eyes still could not fit the vivid memories she held so dear. 

And so, she continued to walk. The people here cherished the early sun in these winter months, evidenced by the fresh faces emerging from their homes like bees from their hives in the spring. Men and women alike wore the braid over their foreheads, though it had become less of a poignant statement and more of a fashionable one. Few carried swords, but those who did let their arms swing free, doubting they would ever need to draw. Children, little flower petals in the wind, scattered through the streets, catching snowflakes on their tongues. She looked, but nowhere in the crowd could she find those eyes. 

She could not see the sky, either, hidden behind the thick grey clouds, though somehow the sun’s form stayed visible through it all, little pieces of light slipping through the cracks, giving the air itself a faint silver glow. Light caught on the snowflakes, blinking precious things visible only for a moment before they fell. Her hair captured a few, wearing droplets of dew as pearls atop the grey, in contrast to the thin golden chain.

When she arrived, she noted the grass. It had not been cut for some time, as the blades brushed her ankles with wet kisses. The stones were in varying states of disarray. Some were dark with mold and dirt, gradually succumbing to the earth, bearing only forgotten names, while most remained legible, but faded with nature at the edges. Very few showed signs of careful, regular maintenance, with the name and titles clean and clear. 

There was a small stone nearby, with the name of his horse carved upon it. His stone, though, stood nearly a half a span tall. It was not by any means an impressive piece of handiwork. The stone, rough and unpolished, had been dug up from the bottom of a lake, and not by weaves, but by her own hands. It had weighed enough to strain her even back then, but she had refused help, except from his wife. Together, they had pried it from the water, and dragged it back to Malkier. 

So many years ago, and yet, it felt like days. 

The lake was her idea, but she could not take credit for the sapphires embedded above the inscription. Somehow both warm and icy, they reflected the unseen sky in an unmatched vibrance. She almost saw his eyes in those, a brief resemblance which matched the man she had come to know. Over the years, his health had faded with his hair and skin, and he had gradually succumbed to the wear of time, but never did the kindness in those eyes lose their color. She was not there when he died, but she knew his eyes would have been just as bright as in his younger days until the very last moment.

At some point, she realized that there were tears, but she let them fall, joining the dew on the grass. The inscription always brought her to that point, as she could remember exactly how it sounded in his voice.

“Death is lighter than a feather. Duty, heavier than a mountain.”

Something sat beneath the inscription. A yellow flower, its stem still green, as it had only been plucked from its garden an hour or two previously. She turned, and saw those eyes.

This woman wore a heron marked sword and a sense of duty like anyone else might wear a well tailored suit; it fit her completely naturally, as nothing else would. The woman looked exactly like her mother, with her dark skin dotted with occasional freckles, and her dark hair held in a braid, and the angular cheekbones that gave her an air of haughtiness, and the smile reserved for very few moments. But those eyes, those eyes were his, looking at her with the same kindness, the same sense of loyalty. 

The women shared an embrace and a smile, before engaging in chatter. The young woman led the elderly one away from the gravesite, giving her the latest news of Malkier, updates on her younger brother, the King, and her mother’s latest research, anything new she could think of to fill the space. The elderly woman responded with anecdotes from around the world, some of which seemed far too practiced, some of which had evidently occurred within the last few days. 

It felt like mere minutes had passed when the women reached the garden. Dozens of plants grew in beautifully cultivated rows and sections, labelled with small stones carved with symbols and names, far from easily legible. The younger woman bowed her head goodbye to the elderly one, before changing her mind, and grabbing her into a tight hug once more. She left, waving to her mother. 

Her mother did not look up, as she knelt to the ground, and began to rip up the weeds by their roots, setting them aside in a bucket for proper disposal. Her white hair had begun to collect stray bits of dirt and leaves and petals, combined in a colorful mess somehow still contained in a neat braid. She still wore a dot of paint above the center of her eyebrows, and she still wore her ring, and she still wore her shawl, though its tassels had faded to a much paler shade, and she still wore that frown when something was not yet complete. It took a moment for her to notice the other elderly woman, standing at the edge of her herbs.

“Moiraine!”

“Nynaeve.”

Nynaeve stood, brushing off her apron, only to find that her hands were black with dirt as well, as Moiraine cautiously stepped through the garden, careful not to disturb the flowers. Moiraine pulled Nynaeve into an embrace, while Nynaeve stuck her arms out behind Moiraine’s curly hair, so as not to dirty her dress. The effort was for naught, as Moiraine knelt to the ground, and began to pluck out the weeds.

“You don’t need to do that.” Nynaeve found herself chuckling, though, as Moiraine fumbled with the plants in her attempt to help. She sat back down, and grabbed one particularly tough clump of weeds, and gently rocked it back and forth, before yanking it upwards. “Anyways, you need to loosen its grip before you pull, it’s easier.”

Moiraine nodded. “Rainy seems chipper.” She managed to pull loose a grouping of weeds, and dropped them into the bucket. 

“She’s just been bonded as a warder.” 

Moiraine smiled, picking at bits of the white roots left in the ground. “She’s so much like him.”

Nynaeve gave an abrupt nod, biting the inside of her cheek. Her mouth remained in a stubbornly ambivalent expression, her dark eyes focused on the plants in her fingers. Moiraine watched her deftly pluck a few from the ground, the practice something automatic to her now. More than a distraction, but barely.

“Do you have any new stories?” Nynaeve broke the silence a minute later. “Or have you finally settled down?”

“As soon as I settle down, as soon as I find a home, people will want me to hold a position of authority, and I’m afraid I’ll end up like Cadsuane- a bitter reminder that the Wheel keeps turning, never stopping to rest. I don’t really have a home, not in Cairhien, nor all of Andor, not even at the White Tower.” She took a breath, and set her hands behind her back, leaning into a more comfortable position. “I got too used to moving around, I suppose.”

“From being Aes Sedai? That quest?” 

“Being with Thom didn’t help my restlessness.”

Nynaeve pushed herself up using the bucket, and offered her hand to help Moiraine. She took it, and the two stood, looking down at the lone yellow flowers below.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, are the flowers some you use medicinally, or do you just plant them because they’re pretty?” 

Picking up the bucket, Nynaeve smoothed her apron. “I didn’t know you were interested in my herbs. Or are you just being polite?”

“Genuine curiosity.” Moiraine folded her arms. “You always have a reason for the plants in your garden, or you’d be planting pumpkins. They’re always something to help with sickness, to ease pain, to aid the weary, or something similar. Now let’s hear it.”

The sun had begun to rise higher into the sky, and the clouds had shifted, worn into a thinner veil. Golden light covered the garden, and despite the winter, the plants seemed to stand taller in the sunlight. The yellow flowers, with their wispy petals and curling leaves, almost seemed to glow from certain angles, catching the light in such a perfect manner. Moiraine began to understand.

“Who ever said that the only things that help a person’s well being are those whose effects can be physically measured?” Nynaeve bent down, her knees and back crackling like a fire with age, and plucked a flower from its stem. 

“That’s a wonderful sentiment.” 

When she stood again, Nynaeve brushed aside a few grey curls from Moiraine’s kesiera, tucking the flower into the chain, just above her ear. “Also, the flowers attract a weed that can be brewed into a delicious tea.”

With that, Nynaeve picked up the bucket, and gingerly stepped out of the garden. Moiraine followed, lifting her skirt so as not to disturb the place further. As they walked, the women exchanged a few words on the weather.

“With all these herbs, do you even need to use weaves to heal?” Moiraine knew the answer, but asked anyways.

“It’s the middle of winter, how do you think I keep them growing year round?”

From afar, the garden appeared mostly green, a darker shade than the surrounding grass, with little spots of color dotting the mass. The sun had moved, so the yellow flowers no longer glowed, still standing out as a bright example of happy color. Nynaeve’s few great grandchildren played near the garden, watched by their grandfather the King, a smiling figure in the distance.

In the kitchen, Moiraine found herself met with a barrage of interesting smells. As one could expect, half of the kitchen seemed devoted to the cultivation of medicines and experimentation along that front, while another half actually held food meant to be used as food. However, Moiraine did not know what belonged to each purpose, and so, leaned on the countertop while Nynaeve worked.

“When did you find these flowers?” Moiraine found a little bug crawling along her arm, and set it on the windowsill. The bug sat still, watching her for a moment, before crawling its way to freedom.

“Hunting trip.” Nynaeve had filled the bucket with water, and began to wash the little leaves. “A long while ago. I haven’t been able to ride in, oh, thirty years? My bones are getting too old to deal with the wear, and I can’t heal time.”

“I thought you’d be too stubborn to give up riding that easily.”

Nynaeve shot a look of annoyance towards Moiraine, which melted away in a moment. “After I taught Rainy and Kiri how to ride, and hunt, and then Kiri’s kids, I think… I think that was enough. If I need to go anywhere, I’ll hire a carriage.”

“And if you need fresh game?”

“I’ll whistle.” Moiraine chuckled at that, and glanced out the window, at the garden with the kids. 

Pulling out a wooden board and setting it on the countertop, Nynaeve brandished a heavy knife. She laid the weeds horizontally on the wood, and began to chop them, delicately scraping the scraps of leaves into a pile in the corner, avoiding the stems. “Kiri’s wife is pregnant, again.”

“Congratulations.” Nynaeve rolled her eyes, continuing to chop, and Moiraine leaned forward. “What’s that?”

“Two was enough for me. One was enough for me, really, but Rainy took after her namesake. She never wanted to take on a position of power.” Moiraine grinned cheekily, and Nynaeve sighed. “Two was enough for me, I don’t understand how she can just keep on going like that, already having three. The woman’s tougher than any I’ve known in a long while.”

“Kiri seems happy.”

“Of course he does, he’s happy as long as he’s got a roof over his head and a horse to ride. And I’m not even sure about the roof, the sky alone might be enough. The loving wife and kids, the kingdom, and everything else, that’s just extraneously good.” 

Moiraine nodded. “And a wonderful mother.”

Nynaeve scoffed, and turned away, lighting the stove top. She set her small kettle down on the flames, before facing Moiraine. “Do me a favor and grab the teacups, they’re in the cupboard behind- above you.”

“Hilarious.” Moiraine did not even turn around, instead touching saidin, and weaving something of air, to bring the cups down to the countertop. 

Nynaeve shut off the stovetop as the kettle began to whistle, and poured the tea into the cups. A savory aroma of fruits and grass filled the air around them, and Moiraine’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. The shock was unnecessary, though, as Nynaeve’s experiments tended to have wonderful results. Nynaeve spooned a dollop of honey and a bit of cream into her own tea, while Moiraine took hers plain, wanting to taste it on its own merits. Moiraine’s tea remained a dark and full yellow color, while Nynaeve’s took on an opaque and pale orange.

The women exited the kitchen, taking seats outside of the little hut, on chairs set specifically for them. The legs of both the women and the chairs creaked from age as they sat. Above, the sun had reached its zenith, and the city at the horizon bustled with a revived energy. The children still played, though their young grandfather had fallen asleep. The littlest boy had wandered into the garden, and carefully selected a string of flowers, to create a better crown for the King. He placed the crown on his grandfather’s head as a woman approached, then ran off to join his cousins. The man’s clearly pregnant wife took a seat beside him, and waved at the two elderly women.

Nynaeve and Moiraine waved back, before the Queen turned away. The two sat in silence for a while, sipping their tea, after a few initial compliments on its wonderful taste from Moiraine.

After a while, Nynaeve drank the last sip of her tea, and stared at the leaves gathered sparsely around the base of the cup. They resembled nothing that she could see, but then, neither did the clouds, in which even children could so easily find meaning. She spoke, her voice quiet. “Do you ever regret not having children?” 

Moiraine stared out at Nynaeve’s great grandchildren, and thought about how to respond. She took another sip of her tea, to find that she was just sipping on leaves, which still had an oddly soggy crunch. Beyond Nynaeve’s garden, three little boys and two little girls played, all shouting and running about with limitless energy, and they seemed perfectly happy. They seemed perfect.

“I never needed children. I have you.”

Moiraine looked at Nynaeve, and her eyes widened in a legitimate shock. It was no longer Nynaeve looking back at her, alone. So many years had passed, and in that time, Nynaeve had gained a familiar kindness in her eyes. And with the sky reflected in them, Moiraine saw her best friend, for the first time in too long. 

Nynaeve placed the empty teacups on the ground, before wrapping her arms around Moiraine in a tight embrace. “You were wrong before.”

“About what?”

“You always have a home, here, with us.” 

Moiraine pulled Nynaeve close, and the flower tumbled out of her hair.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Pulling the Weeds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13154772) by [Eirenne Saijima (ladypoetess)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladypoetess/pseuds/Eirenne%20Saijima)




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